Answering Machine
by CleopatraVII
Summary: This is based on the book and the series, so bare with me...After Johnny's death, his distraught friends are leaving messages on his machine. Better then it sounds, with a surprise ending. plz R&R!
1. Bruce

A/N: Okay, I have no clue where this came from…If the people seem out of character, don't worry, it's just the way I picture people (I tend to distort people) so yeah…Not mine! Don't sue me! Warning, this is based on the book, and it takes place after Johnny's Death (duh duh dum…) and I – yet again- have no clue where this came from. Also, Your horoscope says, "If you review, you shall be blessed beyond your wildest dream." Hmm…who are you to mess with fate? Heh, heh, heh…

Bruce

Bruce was sitting at home alone. His feet were tapping nervously, and he kept absently wiping his lips. There was no trace of his usual laugh, and his laugh crinkles seemed to have smoothed out. He had spent a few hours (though he wouldn't admit it to anyone, except maybe Sarah) weeping silently, but his tears had finally dried up. He just sat on his couch, phone by hand.

Sarah had called him after seeing the morning paper, weeping hysterically. Bruce had tried his best to comfort her, but he was in shock, having seen the paper himself. He thought, on reflection, he had probably upset her more; Johnny had always been better at that… but Johnny wouldn't be here, not now, not ever. 

"God," Bruce moaned, "how could you take Johnny?" He felt tears trying to swim to the surface, and brushed them away viscously. He didn't want to cry anymore. 

He put his head in his hands, concentrating on breathing normally. He glanced to his left, and his eyes landed on his phone, the one that he had talked to Johnny on so many times. 

Bruce stared at it for a while, a weird urge surfacing. He thought it would be insane (what if someone found out and told the press?) but slowly he decided it wouldn't hurt.

He leaned over and picked up the phone. He stared at it for a moment, lips pursed. He dialed a familiar number, clearing his throat.

The other line rang once…twice…three times…four times…

Bruce was about to hang up, when there was a click and a beep.

Johnny's voice, alive and happy, filled his head. "Hey, you've reached Johnny Smith. I'm not here right now, but I'll try to call you back if you leave a name, place, number, and time after the pretty little beep. Talk to you soon!" 

__

I don't think so, dude…Bruce thought.

****

*beep*

"Uh, hi." Bruce cleared his throat, suddenly feeling very foolish. "This is…this is Bruce. I just wanted to say…ah, screw this. Johnny, why didn't you tell us about the tumor? It was a simple operation! Sure, you beat Stillson, but you didn't have to do it that way! Did you? I don't think so! Just think of what you're putting Sarah and JJ and…and me through! We need you!"

Bruce put a hand to his temple, and massaged gently. "I must sound pissed, and that's not how I wanted this to go. Do you know how I found out about what you did? The paper! How's that for a wake-up call? I came downstairs for a bowl of cereal, maybe some eggs, and there you were on the front page. Hey, at least you made the front page…"

__

Damn, he thought, wiping away the tears that had been blurring his vision. "Sarah called. She found out the same way. You know what bugs me? The fact that no one bothered to call. Not the hospital, not the coroner, no one. We found out through a dirty piece of paper that will be lining the kitty-litter boxes across America tomorrow. No one told us. Man, how sick is that?"

The clock on the wall said that Bruce had been talking for a few minutes, ranting really. He knew that Johnny's machine would cut him off soon, so he sighed and cut to the chase. "I guess I just called to say a final goodbye. It just gets under my skin that you didn't bother to let me know what was wrong with you… I didn't get to say goodbye, and I didn't get a chance to hear your latest hair-brained scheme. I realize you probably thought I would try to talk you out of it, but who cares?" Bruce held his breath, considering what to say next. "So, here it is: my last message on your machine. Goodbye, and I'll probably see you around. Oh, and dude: I love you, man, so rest in peace or I'll kick your butt."

Bruce hung up, smiling slightly. Johnny would have liked that ending, he was sure of it. He stared out of the window into his front lawn, and, in his mind's eye, he could see Johnny limping along with that cane of his and laughing. He could really almost hear the bright laughter of the damaged man…of the dead man.

Bruce sighed again, then went back to his spot on the couch. He felt better now…like he had fulfilled his duty as a friend. _I thought he would pick up. I really expected him to answer and say, "Yellow?" in that way of his…_ Bruce thought, chuckling nervously.

He sat that way for a while, then grabbed his coat and headed out the door. He decided to head to one of Johnny's favorite chow spots, in honor of his late friend. 

A/N: Okay, this is based on the book AND the series. I have a strange idea for an ending, but first I'm gonna leave Johnny a few more messages…IF you listen to your horoscope and press the pretty blue button (a.k.a. review!) please! 


	2. Sarah

A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed! This story is kind of weird, but I do have a selected ending…just gotta do a few more messages :) This is based on the book and the new TV series, not the movie, yadda yadda yadda :P Oh, by the way, I picked you up a fortune cookie. Hmm, look at that! It says, "A review a day keeps the stalkers away"! I guess you don't wanna be stalked, huh? And yes, I am very corny.

Sarah

When Sarah saw the front page, she lost it. She let out a wail of pain, and scooped JJ into her arms. She rocked him back and forth, sobbing and whimpering helplessly. She hugged him until he squirmed and said, "Mo-om! I have to go to school!" before he escaped her clutch and sprinted from the house to the bus, looking fairly relieved.

"Sarah?" Walt asked tentatively. "What's wrong, honey?"

"H-he's dead!" Sarah moaned, rocking back and forth, tears spilling down her cheeks. Walt clearly didn't understand, so she motioned to the paper.

Walt picked it up and looked it over. "Hey! Stillson is out of the race!"

Sarah stared at him, dumbstruck. "JOHNNY!" She screamed suddenly, making her husband jump. She was filled with an unexplainable rage, and she leapt to her feet, hands balled into fists at her sides. "How can you care about Greg? Johnny's gone! He was right, we were wrong, and all you care about is that Greg dropped out of the RACE?!" 

Walt stared at her, speechless. His emotions were fleeing through his eyes, and he was afraid she would read them incorrectly, or worse, correctly.

She did see the looks in his eyes, and read them to be relief. She drew a breath, then hissed, "You're glad he's gone! He wasn't supposed to live, which is the only reason why you married me! How DARE you!" Sarah's eyes were hurt, full of accusation and loss. 

"Now wait a minute, that's not fair!" Walt exclaimed, feeling his temper rise. Before he could continue, Sarah raised her hands in a motion that said I-will-not-talk-of-this-you-are-below-me fashion and ran into the bedroom, locking the door behind her. He could hear her sobs behind the door, and felt his rage deflate. "Oh, now, come on, I'm sorry, I guess that was uncaring. Come on out." The only answer he got was louder sobs. 

Walt stood outside the door pleading for a while, then finally left for work, not wanting to be too late.

~*~*~*~

Sarah was lying on the bed, a pillow covering her ears to block out Walt's voice. She hated everything about him right then, and didn't want to see him.

She lay there a while after her tears stopped, after she called Bruce, who seemed to be in shock. She wished JJ was home, so she could hold him tight and thank her lucky stars a part of Johnny had lived on.

As Sarah lay on her side, she stared at the night table. It was antique oak, beautifully hand-crafted. On top of it was a white cordless phone. The phone drew her attention the most. She debated with herself, then picked it up, clearing her throat and dialing Johnny's number after a moment's hesitation.

It rang four times before the answering machine picked up. Johnny's corny old message was still there, and he sounded alive and healthy. 

****

*beep*

"Hi, Johnny, it's Sarah. I-I just wanted to talk to you." Sarah cleared her throat and continued. "It's wonderfully brave what you did…I wish I had listened to you about Gre…about Mr. Stillson."

Deep breath. "I love you, Johnny. I wish you had told me about your tumor…and…and…" Tears were spilling down her cheeks again. "This isn't the way it was supposed to be! It was supposed to be you and me, and our hockey team! B-but then Walt came, and…I should have waited! I love you! Johnny!" 

Sarah broke down then, crying and sobbing uncontrollably, muttering her love and regrets to the answering to a dead man's answering machine. It as quite a while before she got control of herself, but (miraculously) Johnny's machine didn't cut her off. 

"I…I just called to tell you how much I love you, and how I wish things were different." Sarah said softly, then hung up, an empty pit forming in her heart and stomach.

She glanced at the clock. Walt would be coming home for lunch soon, and she didn't want to face him…yet. The pain of losing Johnny was fresh and all over her again. She needed time to herself, but she knew she'd probably be back for dinner, just to make sure Walt didn't give up on cooking and give JJ pizza from Pizza Hut that was growing mold…

Sarah grabbed her purse and let herself out of the house, automatically taking one of the routes Johnny had loved to take when he was working on strengthening his legs. 

A/N: Okay, 2 down, ? many to go. Hope you liked this chapter! Please listen to your fortune cookie! REVIEW (or I shall cry, then hunt you down…maybe, lol) please.


	3. Walt

A/N: Mine! All mine! Muahahahha! Yeah, okay, whatever… thanks for reviewing! Oh, your astrological chart thingy says, "The heavens shall rain fire upon you unless you review" so…please review!

Walt

Sarah had broken down and sobbed. Then she locked him out of his own bedroom…how humiliating! He was supposed to be the sheriff, but if his own wife ignored him, why would anyone else listen to him? Needless to say, Walt was not in the best of moods as he came in for work.

As usual, he was hounded by hungry news-hounds (no pun intended). He calmly declared, "No comment." To every microphone, tape recorder, and note book that was thrust beneath his nose. On his way to the office, Walt noted that a particular red head reporter was absent- a blessing in disguise?

Walt reached his office and slammed the door behind him, locking it. He sighed as he sat down in his chair, a very old chair that he had gotten as a "Congratulations on Getting the Job as Sheriff" from the rest of the staff several years ago, when he first became sheriff. He had seen a lot of people, guilty and innocent, sit across from him on the other side of the desk. 

One of those people had been the mystical Johnny Smith. The moment Walt had heard that Johnny had woken up, he began to unconsciously hate him. The worst thing was, he had been forced to ask the man for help, much to the delight of his wife. Walt could picture Johnny sitting across from him, holding a used cigarette and saying, "Can't catch me, 'cause I'm to slick, see? I'm just too slick, see? Too slick… " in a voice totally unlike his own. One of his famous visions, and Walt had to witness it.

He hated to be proven wrong, and that's all that Johnny had seemed to have done. He was wrong about any of the murderers, any of the paths taken, any upcoming events. He had always been proven wrong by the great Johnny Smith. Walt frowned slightly as he went over the various crime scenes he had been helped on by Johnny. 

Worst of all, Johnny had had his wife before they were married, and (after he woke up) he had wrapped Sarah right back around his finger. Walt had never confronted Sarah about it, but he knew all about the night when Sarah had gone to Johnny's house to "return his ring" and had ended up staying the whole night. He wasn't a sheriff for nothing, and Sarah had come back dripping guilt. That, and she smelled like Johnny's slightly over powering cologne. 

Walt's lips had pressed themselves into a tight white line.

~*~*~*~

The day was crawling by. Walt had only been at work for about two hours, but he felt like he had been there since the dawn of time. 

It was a particularly slow day, no calls except the occasional reporter, asking for his view on Johnny's death, or his view on how the police force would get by without their "psychic bloodhound". Walt had snorted, then muttered, "Same way we did before him." before hanging up on the annoying reporter.

__

You know, compared to these leaches, Dina's not that bad…Walt thought bitterly.

He stared at the phone. He felt like calling someone, though he didn't know whom. Not Sarah, she probably wouldn't answer if she thought it was him. Not Bruce, they had never been particularly close. Definitely not Dina, because she would probably not be coherent.

Not Johnny because—

Because…

__

Because it would be odd? He asked himself._ You didn't even like the man…_ on the heels of that, he thought _So what?_

Before he could change his mind, Walt picked up the phone and dialed Johnny. He got the answering machine (of course) and instantly felt the old resentment towards Johnny begin to rise when he heard the dead man's voice.

*beep*

"Johnny, it's Walt. Why the hell did you do that? You got yourself pumped full of lead by a couple of goons! How stupid! What, you didn't see that coming?" Walt blurted angrily. He took a deep breath before continuing. "You were right about Stillson. Of course. You just aren't happy unless you prove me wrong, huh? You always have to be right."

He shifted in his chair. "You had Sarah, but then you basically died. She was mine before you woke up! Why couldn't you just…just stay dead, huh? My life was perfect, but then you came back and took Sarah away, then dumped her for a reporter I warned you against!" He was breathing hard, and he had a pounding headache. "Jesus Christ. It's just one thing after another with you, isn't it? Comas, Kidnappings, Mine collapsing…never a dull day with you! Never more huh? Just like the bird!"

"You're just more important to Sarah then I ever could be. You came first, and I guess I hated you for it." Walt said wistfully. "I always wanted you to just drop off the face of the Earth and be out of our lives, but now that you are, my wife hates me. I guess she knew about my feelings. But, at least we're even, I know all about that night you two spent together."

Walt sighed again. "I just wanted to say that this time, would'ya stay dead?" 

Walt hung up the phone, feeling strangely drained. _Just stay dead_ he thought again, then grabbed his coat to go out for a walk.

A/N: Sorry, I always pictured Walt as TOTALLY detesting Johnny. I mean, how would you feel if you were him? Ah, well. Also, I didn't want anyone to feel too bad for him because of the last chapter, lol. Please review! 


	4. News Article

A/N: hey, sorry this took so long to get up, but I've been busy. Okay, as we know, these people are not mine. Technically…Muahaha… Okay, this is just a little update for people who haven't read the book (and if you did, I hope you agree with this) to make a little more sense. Thanks for the reviews! I think I'm only gonna put up one more chapter after this, unless anyone has any requests for me? Oh, yes: a small flier that you found in the mail says, "Stop the apocalypse! Review!" 

__

Insert from the Bangor Times:

Stillson out of the Race!

Top candidate ruins chances; costs police force a valuable helper.

Last week, during a press conference with followers and supporters alike, Greg Stillson betrayed everything he stood for. Many are still shocked by what occurred, but most are deeply angered.

The conference began as planned. Suddenly, without a breath of warning, local psychic _Johnny Smith_ burst out of the broom closet with a gun. He had an intent to kill Stillson.

Most friends and family of Smith say that he has been working against Stillson since he woke up from his coma over a year ago. He displayed a great dislike often, and frequently actively worked against him, though no one expected anything like this to happen. 

Doctors say that Smith has been dilusional since the wakening from his coma, which included brain trauma and rendered him unconscious for 4.5 years. Recent information shows that Smith had a minor tumor growing above his eyebrow (for more medical reports, see page B-3). Doctors believe that this may have added to his decidedly suicidal decision. 

Many say Smith was insane to begin with, such as a local tabloid and multiple citizens and neighborhood children. Others say that Smith was a sign from God. Yet others believe that he was a fluke, and the world may be better off without him. Scientists wish they had been able to study him more in depth, and an autopsy shall be (hopefully) helpful in the studies of Telekinesis, precognition, postcognition, and many other forms of "psychic powers".

After bursting from the broom closet, Smith aimed the gun at Greg Stillson. Stillson, in an attempt to avoid being shot, picked up a small child, Billy Praxting, age 5, and used him as a shield.

Witnesses say that Stillson called for security at this point. Smith would not shoot a child, leaving himself open for fire from Stillson's guards. They warned him, but Smith either did not hear or chose not to respond. 

Johnny Smith was shot to death in front of a room full of minors, and women, as well as other Stillson supporters at Stillson's insistence.

Witnesses say that Smith came with an intent to end Stillson's campaign and political career in the least. He completed his task, but not in the way he had planned. 

Greg Stillson, as expected, has withdrawn from the race (for more on his withdrawal, including statements and quotes, see page A-7). Many citizens call for his arrest, outraged by his cowardice in his decision to hide behind an innocent bystander-minor, resulting in the death of a man in need of help.

Most Johnny Smith Fans believe that Johnny was a sign and was unfairly taken. They strongly believe that Smith must have been at the conference for a higher reason then a tumor, much to the skepticism of scientists. Many call out for a complete background check on Stillson and his cohorts.

The janitor, Sid Davees, has been quoted as saying, "He wasn't there when I checked earlier that morning. He must have snuck in when I went to get the brooms or something." Davees is currently being questioned by the police, as well as other staff members on duty that day. None of the others were available for comment (for more from Sid Davees, refer to page D-7).

Many people who knew Smith say that they did not see this coming. The sheriff has refused any comments to the newspaper regarding the loss of Smith and what it may do to the police force (for a list of completed cases Smith helped to solve, see page C-2). 

We are sure that Smith shall be missed by many. 

Services shall be held _this Thursday, at Faith Heritage church. Morning services will be from 10:00 am to 11:30 am and afternoon services shall be held from 1:30 pm to 3:00 pm. Closed coffin. Faith Heritage would like to ask all Johnny Smith Fans to come to the latter of the services, as Smith's family and friends are greatly distressed and are not in the frame of mind to "deal with fans who need almost as much support as we do". _

A/N: Okay, I hope that clears everything up for people who didn't read the book. If you DID read it, what did ya think? Fit well? I haven't read it in a LONG time, and the book was in my locker, and I tried to incorporate some episode stuff into it as well. As the French say, "Est-ce que tu aimes?" (Did you like [it]?). Yes, now I'm practicing for French class in TDZ stories…*sigh* I really have too much free time :P Hope you liked it. Please let me know if you have any requests, cause if not, I'll just kinda end it (I already have the ending figured out, I just gotta type it). Please review!


End file.
